The Scientist
by coolbyrne
Summary: Without giving it away immediately? A good-bye of sorts. (GSR)


TITLE: The Scientist

AUTHOR: coolbyrne

RATING: The very generic PG

CLASSIFICATION: GSR

SPOILERS: Ellie, a couple of small PWF references 

DISCLAIMER: Although blue is my colour, I won't be holding my breath as I wait for the day I can lay claim to these characters. That privilege belongs to JB, AZ, CBS and those who are cool enough to portray them.

ARCHIVE: If you like it, by all means.

FEEDBACK: Compliments/constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated. Flames will be mocked in other forums. Send any combination of the above to: fugitive@ihateclowns.com

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I've had the freakin' Coldplay song in my head for weeks. So, while I steer away from songfic as much as possible, if you have this song around, it makes for a good soundtrack to this fic. Props to Coldplay. Bigger props to WP and JF whose portrayals make the writing so much easier. And, of course, to my beta reader, papiliondae. (Oh, and the Neil Young line Grissom references is "It's better to burn out than to fade away," from "My My, Hey Hey (Out of the Blue)")

SUMMARY: Without giving it away immediately? A good-bye of sorts.

*

Nobody said it was easy/

It's such a shame for us to part/

Nobody said it was easy/

Nobody said it would be this hard.

-"The Scientist" by Coldplay

*

Grissom raked his fingers through his hair, casting an exasperated eye around his office for, perhaps, the millionth time in the past hour.

"Okay, so perhaps 'millionth time' is a bit of an exaggeration," he conceded. "But not by much."

His long sigh spoke volumes of exasperation, weariness and, if he was honest, a touch of sadness. Clearly he had underestimated the number of boxes he would need for all this. And sleep had been hard to come by in the past week.

That, and he was leaving his job.

Though, in all fairness, he knew he had only himself to blame for all three conditions. He had obviously poorly underestimated his ability to collect junk over the years. And he had never been particularly good at time management. As for his job, it seemed to be the only thing he had given adequate planning to. It had taken two months to get where he was at this very moment. Two months of long thought, reasoning, argument, and at long last, certainty. Fourteen days ago he had handed in his resignation, and while he couldn't deny the unexpected stab of sadness, there was a certain amount of comfortable finality about it.

It was three hours since his very last shift had ended, and an hour since his unsuspecting team had finally packed up and gone home. And now, here he was.

Packed up.

He looked around the office for the millionth time.

"Millionth and one," he corrected himself.

He had once told Warrick that when the day came for him to leave, he'd be gone like a ghost. No cake in the break room, no long good-byes. Just gone. He had been successful in being true to his word thus far. With the exception of the lab director Robert Cavalloand Sheriff Mobley, no one knew. Some might consider his omission of fact a cruel one, but to Grissom, it was one of practicality. No long good-byes meant no awkward sentiments, no uncomfortable nostalgia. He was ready to move on and simply expected others to do the same.

Moving on.

Which often required boxes. The small stack he had already packed and labeled for delivery silently mocked him from the corner, a symbol of things yet to be completed.

If only the lab explosion had taken place in his office.

*

For a ghost, he had one hell of a backache.

It had taken him the better part of the day, but he'd finished packing up his office with plenty of time to spare before the night shift arrived. In fact, had he still been in the employ of the LVPD, he would have had enough time to grab a couple of hours sleep before returning to work. Instead, he sat on a box marked, "Books", and took a pull from a long cold bottle of beer. 

A slow scan of the living room and its contents gave him pause. A culmination of nearly half his life so neatly gathered and labeled and stacked against a wall. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and placed the bottle on the floor between his feet. Bereft of any trappings, the soft thud of glass on hardwood reverberated through the empty room. He tried to block out the sound before it reached his heart.

In defiance, the thud grew louder. Startled, it took Grissom a moment to realize someone was actually knocking on his door. "Who is it?" he called out as he picked his way through the boxes lining the entranceway.

"Pizza."

Having long packed away any cooking items and utensils, he had succumbed to the easy access of delivery. As much as he abhorred the thought, his stomach begged to differ. Flicking the deadbolt and pulling open the door, he was looking down into his wallet before a splash of long blonde hair caught his peripheral vision. He closed his eyes when he realized who it was.

Feeling a hand cup his chin, he heard her say, "Close your mouth, too, Bugman."

"Catherine."

"Inside, inside,' came the long drawl of Nick Stokes. "Food's not gettin' any hotter."

Dutifully, Grissom stepped aside and watched, resigned to the inevitable as Catherine, Nick, Warrick and Brass filed in. Greg ran breathlessly up the drive.

"Why… why did I have to pay the pizza guy?" he asked the room.

"Greenhorn," Nick explained, as if it should have been obvious.

Grissom paused at the open door, looking out into the fading light of the empty street. He could hear the familiar banter as the guys dug into the pizza and cracked open the beer Warrick had provided, but it was only the light touch of Catherine's hand on his arm that drew his attention into the house.

"I…," she faltered, "…Sara. You know how she is."

The corner of his mouth twitched downward and he nodded. "Yeah." He frowned. "How did you know…"

Catherine waved off his question. "I got a call into Cavallo's office last week. After taking his sweet old time looking down his nose at me, he asked me what I thought about taking over the night shift. At first I thought it was…" she gestured to her ear. "But Donna from the day shift called me this morning. Said something weird was up. She kept seeing you go into your office with cardboard and I quote, 'a disturbing frown' your face." She gave him a moment to rub his temples and give a short laugh. "And then it all fell into place."

"I see."

The noise from the other room drew his attention to his left. Gesturing to the living room he gave a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "We'd better get in there before there's nothing left." He closed the door slowly, but not before fruitlessly scanning the street one final time.

*

"Wow," Nick said as Grissom and Catherine entered the room, "I nearly didn't recognize the place without the books."

Brass chimed in as he placed a box on the floor and sat down. "No kiddin'. Who wants to guess the number of boxes of books against everything else he owns?"

"Very funny," Grissom retorted. "You picked a good time to show up. Right between the packing and the moving. How convenient of you."

"You weren't really going to leave without saying good-bye, were you, Griss?"

He looked in Greg's direction but couldn't quite meet the eyes of the young man sitting on the counter. He shrugged a distraction. "Well, I didn't actually leave without saying good-bye. I left a note for each of you in your lockers and…"

Greg shook his head. "I don't believe you, man."

Catherine touched Greg's knee in quiet warning. "Greg…"

"I know, Cath, but really. We're family."

"Ghost," Warrick whispered.

"You'll do fine when I'm gone," Grissom said.

"Some of us aren't doing fine and you haven't even left yet," Greg replied, all but saying the name of the one person who wasn't in the room.

"So," Warrick said, in an attempt to change the subject, "what's next for you, boss? Goin' pro with the roach racing?"

Grissom gave a smirk. "No. Too much traveling." Warrick returned the grin. "I'm going to take some time off and then maybe think of teaching."

"Really?" Catherine asked, surprised. "I think… I think you'd make a wonderful teacher."

Nick laughed. "I can see it already. Five years from now a bunch of mini-Grissom clones in CSI labs all over the country."

"I hope I'm retired by then," Brass deadpanned.

"You two should take your show on the road," Grissom scoffed. "Besides, who said anything about teaching forensics? Maybe I'll teach English."

Five sets of eyebrows shot up.

"Boy, when you go for a change, you go all out, man," Nick said, amazed.

"You know, back in the day when I was a gambling man, I would have picked you last to burn out, Griss," Warrick admitted.

Grissom shook his head. "I didn't burn out. I just woke up one morning and I knew. That was it." He held out his hands and shrugged, as if simply stating the obvious. "At risk of offending Neil Young, there's nothing wrong with fading away. I went the distance and I was satisfied. More than satisfied." He took a drink of his beer and let this settle upon the room before speaking again. "So who did you peg as the first to burn out?"

In unison, the entire room replied, "Sara."

When the laughter died down, Grissom shook his head. "You know, I… I wouldn't worry about Sara." He may have intended the comment as a response to Warrick, but he looked at Greg when he said it. The young tech pressed his lips together and looked away.

A cacophony of pagers broke the uneasy silence that had descended upon the group. Grissom chuckled as everyone reached for their belts.

"Aw, man, what's goin' on?" Nick asked.

"We're not supposed to be at work for another hour," Warrick chimed in.

"Crime never sleeps, my friends," Brass intoned.

Grissom chuckled again.

Catherine looked up and smiled. "You'll miss this."

He shook his head. "No," he replied honestly, "no I won't."

"Well, we got you something just in case you miss us," Warrick said as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a small flat package.

"Not another book!" Brass groaned.

Nick put his arm around the older man and laughed as he watched Grissom take the gift from Warrick.

"Well, open it," Catherine commanded.

Grissom's eyebrow rose, wryly acknowledging her chastisement, but he dutifully did as he was told. He knew it wasn't a book simply by the way it felt, but he certainly wasn't expecting it what was now revealed in his hand. A sterling silver picture frame embossed with lady bugs. Inside was a picture of the entire team that Grissom vaguely recalled was taken at the last Christmas party. He remembered Archie telling everyone to move in closer if they were all going to fit in the picture and Sara declaring, "I think someone just grabbed my ass… Greg."

Such a memory should have brought a smile to his face, but oddly enough, it only served to make the lump in his throat grow larger. He pressed his lips together tightly before looking up.

"Thanks." So much had rarely been said in one simple word.

The guys started filing out, giving their last good-byes and, to Grissom's surprise, hugs.

"You ever need anything, you call me and I'll be there in a heartbeat," Warrick vowed, and it was something repeated by all.

Finally, there was no one left but Catherine. She reached up and straightened out his already perfect collar. "You better not be a stranger. Lindsay will never forgive you."

He gave her a reassuring smile. "I promise I'll visit."

Catherine gave him a smile of her own before shaking her head sadly. "You won't visit, will you?"

Placing his hands on either side of her face, he tilted her chin up to look into her watery eyes. "Catherine? How long have we known each other?" At her silent shrug, he added, "I am capable of surprising you, you know." With that, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against her forehead.

When he pulled back, she looked at him in astonishment. "I think you just did."

He gave a genuine laugh and sliding his arm around her shoulders, guided her to the door.

She turned in the threshold and quietly asked, "Is there anything you want me to tell Sara?"

In an attempt to stall for time, he meant to look down at his feet, but instead, his gaze fell upon the picture he still held in his hand. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips and his mouth opened once, then twice, before he simply shook his head. "What could I possibly say?"

Catherine reached up and put her arms around her friend. Giving him a strong squeeze, she whispered into his ear. "If she could only see your face right now, you wouldn't have to say a word." She pulled back and gave his cheek a stroke with the back of her hand. "I'll see ya," she winked, and with that, she was gone.

He slowly closed the door behind her and glanced down, once again, at the photo. If asked, he wouldn't have been able to say where everyone else was situated in the picture, because, either by design or coincidence, the only woman who ever really meant anything was sitting right beside him. Commanded into such tight quarters by Archie, her left arm was around his shoulders and her other hand was nestled in the crook of his arm, which was resting on the table. Her cheek was contentedly pressed up against his shoulder. At least, if her broad smile was any indication, it was content. And it only took one look to see her joy reflected in his own expression. He gently rubbed her image through the glass of the picture frame.

It wasn't supposed to be this hard.

*

As with everywhere else in Las Vegas, time seemed to hold little sway at the airport. It teemed with life, with people rushing past as others greeted friends and loved ones, and yet more stood alone. Many milled around the ranks of seats, aimlessly waiting. Sitting in one of a thousand identical chairs, Grissom would have been hard-pressed to tell the difference between twelve noon and twelve midnight had he not had a ticket for the red eye flight to Los Angeles in his pocket. He sat, watching and listening to the laughter and tears while he waiting for the disembodied voice of the intercom to announce his flight.

Over the last year and a half, it hadn't always been guaranteed that he'd hear such sounds. Now with his hearing restored, he laughed at the irony; he was so fortunate to hear these sounds, but he'd never been so aware of his own silence. He was alone. Not that the choice hadn't been his, of course. As always, he could point the finger of blame at himself for the situation he was in, and he took comfort in that, in knowing the choice was his.

A certain picture he had placed in his carry on bag mocked his so-called comfort. As was his custom, he forcefully chose to ignore it.

And then, just as surely as if she had yelled out, "I'm here!" he knew it. He slowly turned his head, eyes narrowing as he scanned the teeming crowd. She must have spotted him before he saw her, because when his eyes fell on her, she was already making her way towards him. By the time he stood up, she was within arm's reach.

"Sara," he said.

"Hey," she replied with a soft smile. 

Dropping a knapsack at her feet, she hooked her thumbs in the pockets of her jeans until impulse seemed to get the better of her, and she put her arms around his shoulders and embraced him. Startled, he barely had time to return the gesture before she stepped back. Averting her eyes, she self-consciously tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

He couldn't think of a time when he had been so happy to see someone. Naturally, his feelings got lost in the translation on the way from his brain to his mouth.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

She bit back her laughter, and once more hooking her thumbs in her pockets, she rocked back on her heels. She shrugged and looked around. "Oh, I dunno. I was just in the neighbourhood and thought I'd swing by. The airport's a great place to pick up guys."

He returned the banter that had been missing between them for months. "Any luck?"

Her mouth twitched. "Not yet." She held his gaze, a playful test of will, until he closed his eyes and shook his head in defeat. When no return came from him, she continued. "You know, if this is about me asking you out to dinner…"

His eyes flew open.

"… I would have definitely taken a second 'no' for an answer," she finished.

He shook his head again. "It's not about the dinner. You know that."

"Oh good," she replied, blowing out her relief. He remained silent. "So what is this about, Griss?"

He glanced around, as if the answer lay in the surroundings. Finding nothing, he looked at her once more. "I don't know what you want to hear, Sara. I can't wrap it up in one definitive answer." He bit the inside of his lip in a thoughtful pause until continuing. "It was just time for me to call it a day, I suppose. There wasn't one thing that made the decision for me. I just knew. The curiosity will never leave me, but I… I couldn't seem to find the beauty in it anymore."

Now it was her turn to remain silent.

"Besides," he went on, needing to fill in the spaces, "how will Catherine ever get promoted if I'm there? How will Nick ever be able to be the CSI I know he is if he always feels the need to make me proud? Same goes for Warrick."

"And what about me?" she whispered.

He took a deep breath and looked away.

"What about me?" she repeated.

"Sara…"

She stood motionless in front of him, waiting.

"You deserve so much better."

Her expression turned downward. "So much better than what, Griss?"

"Than me."

She exhaled a sharp breath of disbelief and pushed her tongue against her cheek, trying to give her brain time to catch up with the words that threatened to slip past her lips. Satisfied with the revisions, she declared, "I think I liked the first explanation better. I prefer thinking you made the decision for yourself. I'm not sure I could handle the guilt otherwise."

"Sara…"

He looked up as the intercom crackled, announcing his flight.

His eyes softly fell on hers. "That's my flight."

She reached down and slung the knapsack over her shoulder. "Yeah, mine, too."

While he knew it was exaggeration, that a jaw could never actually hit the floor, he was sure his came pretty damn close. With a stunning grasp of the English language, he stuttered, "What?"

Digging into the pocket of her jacket, she pulled out a folded envelope and gazed at the ticket inside. "Yep, that's me," she confirmed, as if she hadn't been really sure. "Red eye to L.A."

"But…" another brilliant word.

Her mouth twitched in amusement. "Did you know I've logged in so much overtime in the last three and a half years that I can almost take six months off in vacation time?" In response to his silence, she held up the ticket and assured him, "Don't worry, it's a return. I have to be back in two weeks." She grinned. "You'll probably be sick of me by then."

He could not believe it. How could one person completely turn his world upside down the way this woman did? And how could one person make him so happy? His joy seeped out into his words, "You'll probably be sick of me in half the time."

Her grin blossomed into a dazzling smile. She tilted her head in the direction of the boarding desk. "So? Let's see what happens?"

He smiled at her choice of words, certain they were used on purpose. He took one long final look behind him. Closing his eyes, he drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. He was thankful for the memories. After a pause, he opened his eyes and bent to pick up his bag. He turned back to Sara, mimicking her gesture towards the desk.

"Shall we?"

"Absolutely," she grinned.

They weaved through the crowd, just two more people in another Vegas performance. It took him exactly nine steps before he wordlessly reached out and took her hand in his. 

-end


End file.
